


Remembrance

by whilewewereyetsinners



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Family Feels, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Have a Happy Hobbit Holiday Gift Exchange, Romance, Tauriel and Legolas are good buddies, Tauriel's backstory, hover text for Khuzdul and Sindarin, no love triangle in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8885371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whilewewereyetsinners/pseuds/whilewewereyetsinners
Summary: The Dwarves' flight from Erebor brings forth shadows of Tauriel's past, while their return sheds light on her future.





	1. Exodus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starlightwalking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/gifts).



> So this was not at all what I intended to write (if I ever manage to get that story out of my head and into a document I'll gift that as well!) but I hope that this doesn't disappoint. Have a very Happy Hobbit Holiday, starlightwalking!

**Third Age 2770**

“This is intolerable,” Tauriel hissed.

Legolas eyed her with hidden concern. Below their perch in the trees a long line of dwarf refugees snaked slowly through the Greenwood. They’d been keeping pace with the vanguard of the group for three days now, with many still to go, and Tauriel had been growing progressively more angry as time went by.

“Perhaps you should take a break,” he suggested, no trace of his worry evident in his voice.

She glared at him. “There are children down there, babies! How can you show no concern?”

He resisted the urge to snap back at her; no good purpose would be served by giving into his own emotions. “I am as concerned as you, but you know my father’s orders.”

“Yes, yes,” she muttered peevishly. “Watch them; ensure they stay on the path; do not approach them unless they stray off it; do not—” A baby wailed beneath them, sounding sickly and weak, and her voice wavered, “—do not render aid.”

“Tauriel,” Legolas said gently, “they’ll make camp soon. Take a break, just for a hour.” When she looked inclined to argue he made his voice implacable. “Now, Tauriel. Go.”

She cast him one last furious look, then was gone in a swirl of red hair and temper.

Legolas slumped against the tree trunk and closed his eyes, listening to the whimpers and cries of the children and wounded beneath him. He was no admirer of dwarves, but Tauriel was right. This was intolerable.

0o0o0o0o0

Another day inched slowly by. The dwarves made camp on the path yet again, huddled miserably as they ate their meager rations and settled in for the night. Legolas and Tauriel watched in silence as King Thrór ranted about going back to Erebor, becoming more and more agitated, finally taking a wild swing at one of his counselors and being wrestled into submission by his son and oldest grandson. The latter looked barely out of childhood.

“How can that be what concerns him?” Tauriel murmured. “His people die all around him yet his only concern is for his lost gold?”

Legolas shrugged. “He is a dwarf. They all lust for gold and treasure.”

She watched as Prince Thráin pressed his forehead against his visibly shaking son’s and sent him off with a gentle push and instructions to: “Check on your mother, son. And see Dís settled for the night. Keep Frerin with you and stay with them so I know they’re well-protected. Will you undertake this duty for me?”

The younger dwarf nodded jerkily and stalked away, swiping furtively at his cheeks.

“Not all of them,” she replied, gesturing to the expression on Thráin’s face as he watched his son go.

“Perhaps not all,” he conceded reluctantly. “Not yet, at any rate.”

They watched the young prince make his way to a campsite further back in the line. A tiny, weeping dwarfling ran to him and flung herself into his arms. He pretended to stagger under her weight until she giggled, then they joined an older dwarfling sitting by the pallet of a badly injured female dwarf.

“Mother,” the prince said, gently touching her hand. “How are you doing?”

Her smile didn’t quite cover the lines of pain on her face. “I believe I am better this evening, Thorin. How goes it with your father and grandfather?”

His pause went unnoticed by her, though his brother looked at him sharply. “All is well, mother. You just focus on getting better, yes?”

“Such a good lad,” she told him, her voice so faint the elves in the trees could barely hear her. “All three of you… I could not have wished for better children…” She drifted back into a restless sleep and for a moment the siblings huddled together, a little band of misery.

Thorin squared his shoulders and said bracingly, “We should be getting to sleep as well. Have you eaten?”

The little one nodded her head against his shoulder. “We had some bread. It was hard to chew. Amad couldn’t eat it.”

He exchanged a tense glance with his brother, but only said mildly, “Remember what Father said, Dís: no Khuzdul until we’re back under stone. Go clean your teeth and prepare for bed.” He waited until she was on the other side of their tiny campsite to quietly ask, “She ate nothing, Frerin?”

“Very little. I tried to moisten it, but we have little water to spare and it was so stale…” his voice trailed off.

Thorin closed his eyes. “It’s all right, brother. I know you did all you could.”

“She’s so tired,” Frerin added starkly. “We tried talking to her but she kept falling asleep mid-sentence.”

“Resting will help her heal.”

His brother eyed him knowingly. “Doing lots of lying tonight, aren’t you?”

“Frerin…” he started helplessly.

“Save it, Thorin.” He quirked a smile, his face looking as if it once had been a merry one. “I know you mean well, but you don’t have to protect me.”

“You’re only nineteen!”

“And you’re only twenty-four. Dís is the baby; let’s protect her together.”

Thorin nodded reluctantly, looking horribly young, and Tauriel turned blazing eyes onto Legolas. “Your father is wrong.”

“My father is our king,” he replied repressively.

“That doesn’t mean he cannot be wrong!”

“That is not what I said,” he snapped. A tense silence stretched out between them. Finally Legolas sighed and said wearily, “Tauriel, I’m not disagreeing with you. I’m simply saying to remember your place. You have sworn yourself into the King’s service.”

“You believe me to be disloyal?” Tears sparkled in her eyes, belying the sudden lack of emotion in her voice.

“I believe you to be young.” There was definite fondness in his voice and he bumped her knee with his affectionately. “ Gwathel, your Silvan fire is no bad thing unless you allow it to overcome your good sense. The king is very kindly disposed toward you. Do not repay his goodwill with defiance. What he is requiring us to do is not unlawful.”

Her eyes were drawn back to the sibling group on the ground. The younger two were now sleeping, draped over the eldest who was clutching them to his chest and staring bleakly at their mother.

“But it _is_ unkind,” she whispered.

His hand descended on her shoulder and squeezed (in comfort, agreement, or warning, she was unsure) but he made no other reply.

0o0o0o0o0

Early the next morning, the young ones’ mother took a turn for the worse, her shallow breaths becoming gasps and her lips turning blue.

Prince Thorin had already left to attend his father so his brother ran for them while his tiny sister shook their unconscious mother’s arm and wailed.

And Tauriel remembered.

She remembered her father thrusting her into a small niche under the seat of their wagon where she’d be hidden. How the orcs’ screeches vied for prominence with the screams of her friends and family and just how horribly _noisy_ it all was. And then the terrifying quiet… she’d stayed in place for hours, too afraid that an orc was waiting there for her to emerge from her hiding spot.

She finally came out as the sun was rising and at first all she could see was blood. Black and red, everything was soaked in it, and there were bodies everywhere.

Then she saw her mother.

She tripped over an orc while running to her, her foot caught in its dead hand, and she screamed… screamed and didn’t stop, even as she fell down next to  Nana  and shook her and shook her and shook her…

“Tauriel?” Legolas asked anxiously.

She looked at him, her green eyes huge in her pale face. “No,” she said, feeling like she was screaming still, though her voice was barely a whisper. “No.”

And she dropped out of the tree.

0o0o0o0o0

The lady-elf falling from the sky startled Dís into silence. She watched in amazement as she dropped to her knees next to her mother and began to inspect her wounds.

“Do you have water, child?” the elf asked abruptly, and Dís jumped in surprise before running to get it.

The elf was rummaging in her pack, muttering about wishing she had fresh herbs, but took the water with a brief word of thanks.

“Are you… can you help her get better? Please?” Her whole life she’d been told that a dwarf should never beg, but Dís was desperate enough to do anything. She would beg on her knees if that’s what it took. “Please, lady-elf?”

The elf’s smile looked like one a warrior would wear into battle but her voice was gentle. “My name is Tauriel, my lady. And yes, I am going to try my best to heal your mother.”

Dís sat next to her mother and held her hand tightly as Tauriel began chanting and pressing the herb and water paste into the ugly wounds. And then Tauriel began to _glow_ and Dís was so astonished she forgot to be afraid.

Dwarrow from the nearby campsites were beginning to gather, and Thorin pushed through them with a shout.

“Don’t, Thorin!” Dís cried, seeing him take a threatening step towards the elf. “She’s helping, look!”

And she was. Amad was looking so much better already, and Thorin must have seen it too because his face changed. He came and sat down, and held Dís’ free hand. Frerin finally shoved his way through and stood there looking completely confused for a moment, before coming to sit on Thorin’s other side.

“Dís, what… where did she come from?” Thorin whispered.

“From the sky,” she whispered back, drawing a snort of laughter from Frerin. She leaned forward and scowled at him around their brother. “She did!”

“Alright, alright,” Thorin murmured reprovingly, but she saw the corner of his mouth twitch up and settled back with a tiny huff.

Tauriel’s chanting wound to an end and her glow faded until she looked like herself again, only more tired. She bound the wounds efficiently and presented Thorin with a leather pouch containing the remaining paste.

“Change the dressings once a day and apply a thin coating of this to the worst injuries while it lasts. I wish I had more to give you. And here, this is Lembas, a waybread—it will be easy for her to eat and a very small amount is filling.” She glanced up at the branches above them. “I must go. Keep the wounds clean and she should recover well.”

“Why?” Thorin asked, sounding bewildered. He cradled the ointment and Lembas close to his chest. “Why would you do this for us?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it without answering. “I really must go,” she demurred.

“But we saw lots of elves, Lady Tauriel,” Dís pointed out a bit resentfully. “Lots and lots of them, but they wouldn’t help us.”

“My king—” she began, then cut herself off. She dropped to her knees before Dís and looked seriously into her eyes. “Little one, sometimes people want to help, but they can’t. And sometimes people are wrong. It doesn’t always mean that _they_ are bad, just that their decisions are bad. Do you understand?”

Dís frowned. “I think so.” Her brothers were also frowning: Frerin in confusion, but Thorin looked as though he understood everything she was saying and more, and disliked every bit of it.

Tauriel hesitated, then pulled the clasp from her braid and pressed it into Dís’ much smaller hand. “No race or kingdom is all good or all bad. Promise me to remember that.”

Dís wrapped her fingers around the clasp, feeling the swirling design press into her skin. “I promise.”

The elf smiled at her and her brothers, then vaulted up into the trees and was gone.

0o0o0o0o0

Tauriel watched Prince Thrain clutch his wife’s hand in both of his and weep with relief as his two younger children laughed and stumbled over their words in their haste to tell him what had happened. Only Prince Thorin was serious, frowning up at the trees in perplexion.

Legolas approached and sat next to her on her branch. She could feel his eyes on her face but didn’t look away from the family on the ground.  After a few minutes he nudged her into turning her head and silently fixed her unraveling braid, tying it off with a thread pulled from his tunic.

The dwarves below began preparing to break camp. The injured princess lifted her head to look around and a ragged cheer went up.

“I remember when we found you,” Legolas said quietly. “You were lying across your mother and your eyes were open, unblinking. We thought you were dead.”

Tauriel nodded. She had no memory of her rescue, but she’d heard the story before.

He continued in that same gentle voice, “It wasn’t until I tried to move you and you wouldn’t let go that we realized you were alive. You wouldn’t speak to us, or couldn’t, perhaps. It was apparent you had hidden in the wagon, so we thought it may have belonged to your parents. We brought as many of the belongings in it as we could, and we brought the jewelry your mother was wearing.” He paused as though expecting her to say something, but she didn’t say what he thought she would.

“You couldn’t find my father,” she whispered. “He, and some of the others we were traveling with, they weren’t there.”

Legolas hesitated. “No. They weren’t.”

“The orcs ate them.”

She’d never said it before, but she’d always known it was true. There had been no body. If her father had been alive he would have come for her so she knew he was dead, but there had been no body.

He laced his fingers through hers the way she had liked him to do when she was small and squeezed her hand. “Most likely. I’m so sorry.”

She watched the young princes carefully transfer their mother to the wheeled cart she traveled on. In another day or two she should be able to travel sitting up, perhaps even walk for short periods of time. The princess smiled up at her sons and Thorin pressed an impulsive kiss to her forehead.

“Are you going to tell the king what I did?”

Legolas scoffed and she was surprised enough to turn to look at him. “No, I’m not going to tell him. And if he somehow finds out, surely he will agree that it would have been extremely imprudent to allow Prince Thrain’s wife to die in the Greenwood.”

He sounded so ridiculously virtuous by the end of his little speech that Tauriel snorted. She bumped her shoulder against his. “Thank you.”

He bumped her back, harder. “You’re welcome.”

The dwarves beneath them began a new day’s journey down the path but neither of them moved from their perch.

“Tauriel,” he finally observed, “that was your mother’s hair clasp.”

“Yes,” she replied simply, her eyes on the slowly moving column beneath them.

“Why?”

She was silent a long moment. “In one of the last conversations I remember having with my mother she said we were prone to disparage or praise kingdoms or races as a whole, when in truth good and evil existed in each one. She urged me to judge individuals on their own merits.”

Legolas waited, but nothing more seemed to be forthcoming. “Wise advice, but that doesn’t explain why you gave her clasp to that child. I know how you treasured it.”

“That child—those children are the children of kings,” she elaborated slowly, as though trying to make sense of her own impulse. “They will grow and have children of their own. They need to remember that all Elves or all Men aren’t the same. Hopefully the clasp will help remind them.” She peered through the filter of the leaves, spying tiny Dis skipping along next to Frerin and farther ahead, Thorin walking beside his father. “They may never live in Erebor again, but they will always be leaders of their people. They need to remember.”


	2. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's T.A. 2941, and there are dwarves in the Greenwood...

**Third Age 2941**

“Throw me a dagger! Quick!”

Tauriel didn’t waste time looking at him. Her loathing for the spiders they were battling saturated her voice as she snapped, “If you think I’m giving you a weapon, Dwarf, you are mistaken!”

She spun and killed the last spider before it could attack the dwarf who had called for a dagger (really, what was he _thinking_?) and got her first clear look at his wide-eyed face…

…which looked familiar.

How very strange. She had encountered Dwarves in the past decades (few of whom had endeared themselves to her) but none had looked like him.

She shrugged the feeling off and assisted in gathering the protesting Dwarves’ weapons and marching them off to the Halls. When they arrived, Legolas took their leader to see the king while she and the rest of her guardsmen were told to take the remaining dwarves down to the cells.

Temporarily, she hoped. It seemed a little precipitate to imprison them before their leader even completed his audience.

Not temporarily, she realized, as she caught the tail end of the leader’s conversation with her king. She winced as Thranduil threatened to keep the dwarves there for a century and began mentally rearranging the guard shifts.

She did not know who their leader was. She hadn’t gotten a clear look at his face, nor had she tried to. It didn’t occur to her that his identity could in any way be important to her. It wasn’t until she was doing her rounds of the prison cells several hours later that she came face to face with him, and realized, with a sick twist of horror, exactly who he was.

There was no mistaking it—he was older, harder, taller, and his beard was thicker (though, oddly, shorter), but even with those changes and without his distinctive eyes he was easily recognizable as the near-child dwarf he’d been.

A prince. Her king had imprisoned a prince. No longer one of a neighboring kingdom, to be sure, and she didn’t know what had become of the dwarves of Erebor, if they even had anything worth calling a kingdom any longer, but did he not know who he had captured? Surely, if he knew…

Her mind awhirl, she turned to walk away and Prince Thorin called after her, “My mother lives.” She spun to look at him and he continued sardonically, “In case you ever wondered.”

She took a shallow breath, feeling light-headed. “I am glad.”

Something shifted in his eyes as he looked at her and she wondered what her expression looked like. After a long moment he nodded regally—in dismissal, she realized, torn between annoyance and strange sort of amusement—and sat, straight-backed, on his bench.

Tauriel took her opportunity, and fled.

0o0o0o0o0

 

The next few days passed in a blur.

King Thranduil, she discovered, knew very well whom he had imprisoned. Not that she’d had the temerity to ask him, of course. But she came across one of the guards who’d been in the audience chamber enthusiastically gossiping with several others about what had been said, and overheard enough (before repressively chiding them and sending them about their duties) to be certain of it.

First the bewildering insinuation about Legolas’ affections for her and now this! His judgement… she had tried, since the fall of Erebor, not to question his judgement in the way she had then, tried to see ways that his decisions were the best for his people. Certainly, his refusal to fight the dragon after it had entered the mountain was best for the folk of the Greenwood, but his decision to refuse all aid to the suffering Ereborian refugees… No. That decision was best for no one. And his refusal to allow any of the guard to destroy the spider scourge at its source, his refusal to allow travelers safe passage through the wood, or to even acknowledge how dark and dangerous the wood had become, his lack of concern for anyone outside their borders… was anyone benefitted by this? Anyone at all?

She tried to lock her thoughts and concerns safely away, as she’d done for centuries, but they were not so easily silenced.

 _There must be a reason_ , she thought desperately. _There must be a reason he would imprison one of Prince Thorin’s rank._

Legolas would know, surely. His father didn’t always confide in him, but he must know _something_.

Her measured pace and impassive expression hiding how she longed to break into a sprint, she went in search of him.

0o0o0o0o0

“That’s all?” she blurted out in disbelief. “He wouldn’t say where they’re going? That’s enough to get a Dwarven prince and his companions thrown into prison for a century?”

“Well—”

“And not even given the _illusion_ of proper treatment, of house arrest or something suitable for his rank, but imprisonment in the worst dungeons, damp from the river!”

“Taur—”

“And what of his companions? Do we even know who they are? They could all be of noble birth!”

“Tauriel, they’re just dwarves! Does their birth really matter? It’s not as if they have a kingdom any longer! None of the dwarves do.”

She stared at him wordlessly—at her friend, her brother, her prince so secure in his own kingdom—stared at him long enough that he began to look abashed. He opened his mouth to say something, but she didn’t give him the chance to speak. She didn’t know if she could bear to hear it.

“Sometimes, Legolas,” she said lowly, “not always, not even often, but sometimes, it is all too apparent whose son you are.”

She spun on her heel and stalked away, feeling as though everything familiar and good was crumbling beneath her feet. And she refused to cry.

 

0o0o0o0o0

 

She threw herself into her work. She killed spiders, resisting the near compulsion to trace them back to their nests in Dol Guldur. She did her rounds of the dungeons, avoiding Prince Thorin’s eyes. The strangely-familiar dwarf who’d asked for a dagger smiled at her every time she passed his cell.

Each time she started her rounds she told herself she wouldn’t look at him, but she always did.

 _It’s all his fault_ , she thought testily. He was never still. He was always moving, tossing some small silver thing from hand to hand in intricate patterns; one time he even was dancing! How could she be expected not to look?

And then the way he would smile at her, as if he had some wondrous secret he was inviting her to share… It lit up his whole face, like there was a star shining out behind his eyes.

She didn’t like it.

She finished her rounds and went out to kill more spiders.

0o0o0o0o0

Three more days, three days of avoiding talking to Legolas, of killing spiders (but only the spiders inside their territory, not the ones outside, they didn’t matter), of refusing to meet Prince Thorin’s gaze, of her step faltering at the smiles of his dagger-coveting companion, and Tauriel felt as though she was going to burst out of her skin. She spun on her heel in the middle of her rounds, marched back to Prince Thorin’s cell, and asked brusquely, “You said your mother lives. Is she well?”

He slowly unfolded himself from the bench and eyed her somewhat warily. “Yes, she’s well.”

“Her injuries healed? She doesn’t suffer?”

“She has some discomfort in the extreme cold, but no, she doesn’t suffer.” He was frowning at her now, as though she was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.

“And your sister?” Tauriel pressed, knowing how inappropriate she was being but unable to care. “She is well?”

“She is very well, yes.”

“And your bro—”

“Lady Tauriel,” he interrupted, his voice strangely gentle, “please stop.”

“You remember my name,” she said dully, even as a voice in her brain shrieked that he wasn’t well, he wasn’t alive, the younger prince named Frerin with the face that should smile, he wasn’t, he wasn’t...

“Dís wouldn’t let us forget it,” he replied drily. “As she shouldn’t, considering the service you rendered us.” He studied her for a moment before continuing, “It occurred to me, later, that we never thanked you. I would do so now.”

Tauriel shook her head. “I don’t require thanks. Your sister… you and your siblings, you had your mother. It is enough.”

“Ah,” he replied quietly, as though something about her finally made sense to him. “Yes, we did have her while we grew, and though she grows elderly, Dís and I still have her now. She kept Frerin from the charnel pit that was Azanulbizar and he grew to adulthood without having to bear the burden of its horrors, assuming he would have survived it at all. She ensured Dís a happy marriage.” He paused, then continued deliberately, formally, “Her life has made a tremendous difference in ours, and I thank you for saving her. We are grateful.”

“It was my privilege to be of service,” she replied just as formally. She took a half step back, feeling awkward and wanting to flee. But first… “Your brother. Prince Frerin. How…”

“A skirmish with orcs, nearly eighty years ago.” He retreated to his bench and sat heavily, as though suddenly too weary to stand.

 _Of course it was orcs_ , she thought bitterly as she walked out of the dungeons. _Isn’t it always?_

She was all the way back to her rooms before she realized that, for the very first time, she hadn’t looked at the smiling dwarf.

An hour later she was still crying.

She didn’t even know why she was so upset. So she hadn’t looked at him; so what? She always said she wouldn’t look at him—she should be glad she finally managed to do it! And then there’s Prince Frerin. He’s dead and it’s shocking to her and she doesn’t know why. His death had nothing to do with her, she couldn’t have prevented it, she didn’t know him, she’d never spoken to him, she’d only seen him briefly a few times a hundred and seventy years ago!

And then there was the mess with Legolas…

That’s why she’s upset, she decided firmly. Legolas had been her friend since she was small; of course this rift with him would bother her. And Prince Frerin, she still thought of him as a child, not a fully-grown dwarf, and a child dying is always distressing. So that explains that.

As for the inappropriately-smiling, dagger-demanding, restless dwarf…

She would just continue not looking at him.

That’s all.

Simple.

Tauriel took a long bath and went to bed, refusing to acknowledge just how _not_ simple it would be.

0o0o0o0o0

She almost made it past his cell door—would have made it, she insisted to herself later, except he ruined it by speaking to her.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Pardon me?” She looked at him then, but to her surprise he wasn’t smiling.

“Yesterday, did Thorin upset you? You looked distressed when you left.”

“Oh! No.” Speaking to him was more unsettling than seeing him smile at her.

Of course, as soon as she thought that the corners of his mouth quirked up. Lovely, so there would be speaking and smiling. She took a step backwards.

“No, what?”

“What?”

His smile widened and he elaborated, “No, you’re not feeling better; no, Thorin didn’t upset you; or no, you weren’t distressed?”

 _Your smile is distressing_ , she thought irritably. “No, Prince Thorin did not intend to distress me. I am very well today, thank you.”

His smile disappeared so quickly that Tauriel felt off-balance. “So he did upset you. What did he say?”

“It is nothing that need concern you, but he did not intend to cause me distress. Truly,” she added, when he looked inclined to argue.

“If you’re sure,” he said doubtfully. “He can be gruff sometimes, rude even, but he doesn’t usually set out to upset people. But I didn’t know, with you being…”

He trailed off, and she finished for him, feeling inexplicably weary, “With me being an Elf. No. He intended no offense. Thank you, Master Dwarf.” She rubbed her fingers above her brow where she could feel a headache forming and turned to walk away.

“Kili,” he said firmly.

She turned to look at him and was nearly blinded by his smile.

How did he get the starlight inside him?

“You can call me Master Dwarf if you really want to, but my name’s Kili.”

Tauriel nodded dumbly and fled.

 _It’s good to know his name_ , she assured herself. Now she needn’t think of him as the smiling dwarf—she needn’t think of his smile at all. Now he was just That Dwarf Kili.

That’s all.

It was better.

Much.

She wasn’t scheduled to go out and kill spiders, but she went anyway. They could always use another pair of hands.

0o0o0o0o0

Another day passed.

Tauriel met Legolas’ eyes when he approached her, and he smiled, relieved.

She smiled back, because quarreling with him was awful. And if she didn’t let herself think about the subject of their quarrel they wouldn’t have to do it again.

She went out and killed some more spiders.

Then she washed the filth from her hands, changed her clothes, and started her rounds.

She didn’t change her clothes because she cared about how she looked. She just didn’t like spider filth on her, that’s all. It was disgusting and it stank. And she wasn’t going to look at That Dwarf Kili.

Not looking.

Still not looking.

From the corner of her eye she saw something small and silver flash through the air and the next thing she knew she was standing in front of his cell door, asking, “What _is_ that? I keep seeing you throw it.”

“What, this?” He slanted a mischievous look up at her. “It was in a pocket of my trousers—if you wanted to see it you should have searched me. I did suggest it, you remember.”

His eyes sparkled up at her from where he lounged on the bench and she fought the completely inappropriate urge to tease him back. What _was_ it about him and his dreadful smile that made her lose all rationality?

She turned to walk away and he said, “No, don’t go. It’s just a token, really. My mother gave it to us, me and my brother, so we’d remember to judge people on their own merits.”

She froze so suddenly and completely that he stared up at her, arrested. “It’s you, isn’t it? Tauriel?”

Tauriel couldn’t bring herself to do more than blink at him. Her son. The tiny child whose mother she’d saved, this was _her son_.

Her son who laughed, seemingly delighted by this impossible coincidence. “I was hoping I would get to meet you! Fili said it was unlikely, which I suppose was true, but he was wrong in the end! I should have known, by your hair…”

He was smiling so widely and brightly that it almost hurt to look at him. She replied through numb lips, “Red hair is not so uncommon among Silvan Elves.”

“No, of course not; I mean, I’ve seen others here with red hair. But my mother said that your hair danced, and when I saw yours I should have realized it was you.”

“You… you think my hair dances?” she asked uncertainly.

“Absolutely.”

“Oh. Well. That’s, um, that’s lovely. Thank you, I mean, thank your mother for me.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, and winked.

“Oh. But…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell my mother,” he promised lazily, his eyes sparkling in a completely unsettling way, “but I think it too.”

Tauriel stared at him almost blankly and tried to pull herself together. He’d said something before the nonsense about her hair (which really was the loveliest thing anyone had ever said about her; she would have to remember his mother said it first.) What was it? Oh yes… “Fili? Is that your brother?”

“Yes, five years older. We have two younger siblings but they’re back home with our parents. We’re an almost preposterously large family by Dwarf standards.”

“It would be large for Elves, too,” she responded automatically, glad to finally be having a conversation that made sense. “Are they brothers or sisters, your younger siblings?”

“One of each,” he replied cheerfully. “A perfectly dreadful sister, Arndis, and a brother, Frerin, named for my uncle. Funny to think that you met him and I never did—he died when my mother was still carrying me.”

“Yes, Prince Thorin—your uncle—told me there was a skirmish with orcs.”

“Why do you call him that? But yes, there was.” He sobered. “My father was wounded and Uncle Frerin fell protecting him. I wish I could have known him, but I’ve always been grateful.”

“I imagine so,” Tauriel replied softly.

Kili leaned forward, eyes sparkling mischievously, “So, why _do_ you call him that?”

She decided to be difficult. “Why do I call who what?”

“Uncle Thorin. Why do you call him Prince Thorin?”

“Well, I’m hardly going to call him ‘Uncle’,” she retorted, “and Prince is his title.” She frowned. “I should be calling you that also, and your brother. Which is he? And are there any other royalty here?”

“Pssh, you don’t need to call me that—I’m the spare and glad to be so. As is the rest of the Dwarven world, let me assure you! No one wishes for me to become king.” He grinned his starlit smile. “Fili, though, by all means address him formally—I can’t wait to hear his reaction. But Uncle, he isn’t a prince any longer.”

It took a second for her to decipher that speech, then her eyes widened. “He’s… but your grandfather, and his father…”

“Both lost at Azanulbizar,” Kili ( _Prince Kili_ , she told herself, _don’t forget he’s a prince_ ) replied. “Thorin’s been king since he was younger than I am.”

She stood and absorbed that. “I have to go,” she announced.

He nodded, seeming to have some idea of the shock he’d given her. “You’ll come back tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she promised, without even thinking about it.

Of course she’d be back tomorrow. She had her rounds to do, didn’t she?

But that wasn’t what he’d meant when he asked, and it wasn’t what she meant when she’d answered.

And she knew it.

She refused to think about it, choosing to think about only one impossible thing at a time. She backtracked and stopped before Prince (no, King, dear Eru, _King_ ) Thorin’s cell. He met her eyes with the wariness that seemed to be an integral part of him.

“ _King_ Thorin?” she asked. Though why she was asking when she already knew it was true was beyond her.

“In exile,” he replied steadily. “Yes.”

“Oh,” she said helplessly. “I didn’t realize.”

“I know,” he said, so calmly that she was tempted to dump her other impossible problem, his stupid nephew That Dwarf Kili, into his lap and let him deal with that too. “None of this is your doing.”

“But King Thranduil… does he know?”

King Thorin’s face darkened and he turned away. “He knows.”

0o0o0o0o0

“Tell me he doesn’t know,” Tauriel demanded.

“You already know that he knows,” he replied tiredly.

“Tell me that _you_ didn’t know.” Her voice lowered, trembled. “Legolas? Please. Tell me that you didn’t know that the King-in-exile of one of the Dwarven clans is being held prisoner in our worst cell, for the paltry crime of not telling your father his travel plans.”

Legolas refused to meet her eyes, and she felt something inside her give way with a _snap_.

She went out that night, unscheduled, and alone.

There weren’t enough spiders in the Mirkwood to sate her need for destruction.

The next day, after she completed her rounds, she stopped at Kili’s cell.

And under his surprised gaze, sat down.

And let him make her laugh.

One day led to another, and another, and another, until he wasn’t her escape or her rebellion, he was her destination. _He_ is where she wants to be, and when she finally lets herself think about it she realizes he always was. He was never an escape _from_ , he was an escape _to_.

And she is terrified.

0o0o0o0o0

The broken thing in her relationship with Legolas is still broken. He tries. He speaks to her about being seen sitting in front of Kili’s cell, speaks of how he’s hiding it from his father, speaks of his worry for her.

And she believes him, both that he’s worried and that he’s hiding what she’s doing from his father. She believes he truly wants good things for her and wants her to be happy.

But she doesn’t believe he has the faintest idea what those good things are or what will truly bring her happiness.

She smiles at him and squeezes his hand. Thanks him and wishes she doesn’t see his despair.

0o0o0o0o0

It’s funny, even now, all these weeks after seeing her brother again and meeting her son, when she pictures Dís in her head she is still a child. But Kili, that child’s son…

Kili is not a child.

Not in any respect. He is a dwarf full grown and he makes her want impossible things and sometimes in the morning when she wakes from dreaming she wishes she’d never seen him and the starlight shining from his face.

For how will this end? The dwarves have been imprisoned now for well over a month, with King Thranduil making no effort to even speak with King Thorin again, much less negotiate with him. Though many of the guard seem to believe she is doing well—one who has always been friendly told her she was glad to see Tauriel back to her old self, no longer intemperately wishing to destroy every spider in the wood—there are those who eye her strangely, some who eagerly await her fall from grace. She knows Legolas’ attempts to silence the rumors will not succeed forever. She knows they are already starting to fail.

She fears it will not end well, for any of them.

0o0o0o0o0

Galion was drunk. Not that this surprised Tauriel in any way.  Mereth Nuin Giliath  was almost over and she knew he always held some of the best wine back for himself and his friends.

So no, Galion’s drunkenness was neither unexpected nor surprising. The drunken stupor of his companion, one of her guardsmen who was _still on duty_ , was infuriating but not truly surprising. When she came looking for him, Tauriel already had a good idea what she would find.

No, the surprising thing, the thing that shocked her into silently fading back into the dimness of the corridor, was seeing the ring of cell keys lift off his belt and disappear.

She could hear nothing, see nothing, no footsteps or prints, but surely if those particular keys were taken the unnatural thief would be heading to the dungeons. She went slowly, her steps silent and measured, and arrived just as a small, exhausted person appeared out of nowhere and began unlocking the cell doors.

She should be angry. She knows that she should. She should raise the alarm, should seize the small creature, snatch the keys from his hands, and lock him in a cell of his own.

But as she watches King Thorin smile, watches Kili bound from his cell and hug the small man, all she can feel is relief.

Relief that Kili and his uncle and brother and companions are being set free.

Relief that her hands are not the ones that unlocked the cells.

 _It would never have come to that_ , she tells herself as she follows them to see how they plan to make their escape. Her loyalty and dedication to duty are the bedrock on which she built her life. _It would never have come to that._

But as she silently follows them, her inaction facilitating their escape, she’s well aware of her own hypocrisy.

The small person, wisely, doesn’t try to lead them up and out; instead, he leads them back to the wine cellar where he’d stolen the keys, into the antechamber where the empty wine barrels are lined up ready to be released down the river, and urges them to climb inside.

The small person is brilliant. Tauriel would never have thought of that as a means of escape, but it certainly is a better option than trying to sneak out through any of the doors—there are so many of them they would never escape unseen.

Not that she’d thought about it before. Not at all. She was just thinking about it now.

Behind her, one of the drunken Elves let out a low groan, and she instinctively stepped around the corner and into the antechamber so she wouldn’t be seen.

For half a second everyone froze. Then there were hissed curses and hands groping for nonexistent weapons. The small person took three large steps, placing himself between her and his companions, his trembling hands holding out a (really, quite lovely) long Elvish dagger.

She smiled slightly, which seemed to confuse all of them except Kili, who, naturally, smiled back. She tore her eyes away from him and met King Thorin's gaze for a long silent moment, then said quietly, "You must hurry."

His eyes flared wide with shock before he inclined his head, somehow looking regal despite hanging awkwardly halfway out of a barrel.

“Tauriel, come with us,” Kili said urgently. “Don’t stay here.”

Galion and his companions were making more sounds of awakening. “I must,” she replied simply. “I am sworn into the king’s service. I must see this through.”

Three things happened at once: Thorin growled something unpleasant beneath his breath. Kili started to pull himself out of his barrel. And the drunken guard exclaimed something about his keys.

“Now!” she hissed at the small person. “Go now!”

He pulled the lever and ran down the ramp after the barrels. The last glimpse Tauriel had of Kili, he looked like he was shouting her name.

She stood there and waited. When her arms were pulled roughly back and bound behind her, she didn’t resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Mereth Nuin Giliath- The Feast of Starlight
> 
> So sorry for how incredibly long it's taken for me to update this (let's just say 2017 was a challenging year and leave it at that lol.) This has gone far astray from my original notes-- it was supposed to be less angsty and more the beginning stirrings of Kiliel love, but Tauriel was all JUST LET ME LOVE HIM and FOR THE LOVE OF THE VALAR YOU CAN'T IMPRISON PASSING ROYALTY BECAUSE THEY WON'T SHARE THEIR ITINERARY WITH YOU and well, this is how it ended up. :D One more chapter coming-- it will be up within the week. If you have a moment please let me know what you think!


	3. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes home is exactly where you think it will be.

 

**Third Age 2941**

Tauriel stood before King Thranduil’s throne for hours, wondering if the Dwarves escaped successfully or if they were even now being recaptured and imprisoned…or worse. She ignored the ache between her shoulders and her hands’ numbness, desperately listening for any sound—surely if they were recaptured she would be able to hear something, some sort of commotion. All her focus was bent on it, to the point that when King Thranduil finally deigned to make an appearance his entrance startled her.

He swept into the room, angrier than she’d ever seen him, and loomed over her. She hated when he loomed. Was he not powerful enough without the addition of physical intimidation? 

She had never cowered before him, and she would not begin today. She fixed her eyes on the fabric of his sleeve and, despite his vicious tone, was relieved when he finally spoke. 

“So, Tauriel. I have been hearing many stories of you. That you believe yourself to have fallen in love with one of the Dwarves. That you betrayed me, plotted their escape, and freed them from their cells.”

She replied steadily, her eyes still straight ahead, “That is untrue in every respect. I did not help them escape and knew nothing of any plan to do so.” 

“You deny knowing of their plans?” 

“I do deny it.” 

He finally ceased looming, paced, and then sat. She thought he looked a trifle relieved, but he was still so icily angry it was difficult to be certain. “Perhaps then, you will tell me precisely what transpired.” 

She did, beginning with coming in search of her guardsman and seeing his keys disappear and ending with the Dwarves' escape via barrel and river. 

He gazed at her over steepled fingers. “You watched them leave.” 

“Yes.” 

“And did nothing to stop them.” 

“Yes.” 

“Because you believe yourself to be _in love_ ,” his voice twisted foully on the words, “with one of them.” 

“No.” 

“No, you don’t believe yourself to be in love?” 

“I do not _believe_ myself to be in love. I _know_ that I love him.” She paused and took a slow breath, steadying her voice. “I love him. But that is not why I let them go.” 

“Why, then,” he asked mockingly, “if your supposed love was not enough?” 

“Because they had committed no crime,” she replied flatly. “It could never rebound to the Greenwood’s benefit, imprisoning a king and his com—” 

“A king!” he spat, leaping to his feet. “A king of what? Filthy stone-grubbers?” 

“A king of his people,” she said lowly, and in that moment she despised him. “Just as you are.” 

He circled her, glowering down at her. “Am I, Tauriel? Am I your king?” 

She kept her gaze forward. “You are.” 

“I elevated you, a mere Silvan elf, to your position of captain and you swore oaths of loyalty, yet you willfully allowed prisoners to escape. You valued your own judgement higher than the orders of your king and broke your oaths.” 

She was silent and he snapped, “Is that not the case?” 

“It is,” she conceded quietly. 

He circled her twice more then slowly returned to his throne and sat. “For your faithlessness and disloyalty, you are forthwith banished from the kingdom of Eryn Galen. You are no longer my subject and I am no longer your king.” 

Tauriel’s breath left her in a rush, and she stared at him, speechless. 

“You will leave immediately,” he said, his eyes belying the dispassionate tone of his voice. “Do not let me see your face again.”

 

0o0o0o0o0

 

Legolas met her outside the throne room, a large satchel filled with her belongings in his hand and another pack slung over his shoulder. He cut her bonds then grasped her arm above the elbow and tugged her forward. “Come,” he said emotionlessly, and led her to the gates. 

She was all the way outside, the air chilly on her wet face, before she realized she was crying. 

They walked in silence. Tauriel was barely aware of where they were going, but all too conscious of Legolas seething beside her. 

She had to know. She knew she shouldn’t ask him—he was already so angry and this particular question only likely to fan the flames of it—but she _had to know_. Finally she could hold it inside no longer, and burst out, “Were they recaptured?” 

He scoffed bitterly. “Hardly. They would have had to be pursued for that.” 

She stopped in her tracks. “What? They weren’t… But… _what_?” 

“They weren’t pursued,” he said flatly. He dropped the bags on the ground, more agitated than she’d ever seen him, his hands curling into fists. “He—my father—immediately gave orders against it.” 

“But all that time, while I was waiting? What was happening?” 

“He was gathering evidence against you, from any gossip in the palace. And then he let you wait for a while after that. He told me, before he went in to speak to you, what your punishment would be and I could not dissuade him. He barely listened to anything I had to say! But I suspect… I think he knew you were right. That he shouldn’t have imprisoned the Dwarves in the first place. But he couldn’t admit it or bear the thought of you going against him, or it being so widely known that you did…” his voice trailed off and he looked strangely young. 

“Oh,” Tauriel replied quietly. Really, she should have known it all came down to appearances. If she’d been thinking about anything beyond her fear for Kili and his family she probably wouldn’t have been so utterly shocked by her banishment. 

“I feel as though I don’t really know either of you,” Legolas continued resentfully. “Why would you do that? Break all your vows and just stand aside and watch prisoners escape?” 

She regarded him steadily. “I couldn’t do anything else.” 

He scoffed again. “Tauriel, you’ve given up everything, and for what? They’re just _Dwarves_.” 

“They’re not _just_ anything!” She paused, forcing her voice lower and calmer, and reminded him, “Legolas, when I told you, all those years ago, what my mother had said about judging people on their own merits, that no race or kingdom is uniformly good or evil, you praised her for her wisdom. Why is it then that you cannot embrace it? Do you no longer think she was wise?” 

He screwed up his face in a way most unlike him. “I do, it’s just, do you really think she meant _Dwarves_? Everyone knows they are lesser, that they don’t think and feel as we do, or even Men!” 

She pressed her lips closed against the words boiling behind her teeth, finally managing to ask, “And how does everyone know this? Have they talked _to_ any Dwarves, or just about them?” She held up a forestalling hand. “Just as you, I have dealt with Dwarves who were rude or appeared brutish. But I have also seen goodness in some, and love for one another—as have you, if you are honest. I have spoken with King Thorin and found him kind. I have spoken with Kili and found humor and goodness, and love for his family—” 

“And love for you,” Legolas interjected wearily. She looked at him in surprise as he admitted, “I could not fail to see it. If I was honest.” The corners of his lips quirked up and she smiled at him, full of gratitude and relief. “And you love him.” 

“I do,” she agreed simply. “As I will never love another.” 

He was silent for a long moment, just studying her face, before saying abruptly, “You’ve been wearing your mother’s hair clasp, for some weeks now.” 

Her hand flew to the back of her head where it was securing her braids. “Yes. Kili gave it to me.” 

“Kili?” he asked in honest surprise. “Why ever did he have it? I assumed Thorin returned it to you, though I couldn’t imagine why he would have brought it with him.” 

“Kili is King Thorin’s nephew, the second son of the Princess Dís.” Tauriel smirked at him, her tone turning gloating. “She gave it to him and his brother before they left on their journey, as a reminder to judge people on their own merits.” 

Legolas actually gaped at her for a moment. “You’re making that up.” 

Tauriel just laughed.

 

0o0o0o0o0

 

They resumed walking, the silence far less strained—and while Tauriel could tell Legolas still struggled, she was certain his anger at her had lessened. His anger at his father, however… 

So many times over the years she had been frustrated with King Thranduil’s isolationism and arrogance, that frustration extending to Legolas’ refusal to discuss it. He would counsel her to remember her oaths, to think of where her loyalties should be, until eventually she didn’t attempt to air her concerns at all. 

It was only now that she realized he may have avoided discussing it because he didn’t want to admit what his father had become. 

Finally, as they neared the edge of the wood, he spoke. “Where will you go?” 

“To find Kili,” she replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world—as to her it was. Where else would she possibly want to go? 

“They are going to the mountain?” 

She hesitated, and he took it as a yes. 

“The dragon still lives. Are they aware of that?” 

“They know it is possible.” 

“Their armies couldn’t stop it when it came,” he pointed out incredulously. “How do they expect to defeat it with so few?” 

She shrugged. “I don’t know their plans. Kili didn’t tell me and I didn’t ask.” 

“You didn’t _ask_?” 

“It seemed better not to know,” she replied carefully, “as we didn’t know what would happen. We didn’t speak of any details of his journey or companions. I’m even uncertain which of them is his brother, though based on his age I can guess, of course.” 

Legolas stopped walking and turned to face her. “Tauriel. What did you _think_ would eventually happen?” 

She just looked at him, all her longings plain to see. “I didn’t know. But I knew what I wanted to happen.” 

“Yes,” he acknowledged quietly. “Very well. Let us say it all goes as you hope. The dragon is slain somehow, King Thorin on the throne of Erebor, and you permitted to marry your dwarf and dwell there.” His tone made it clear how skeptical he was of any of it coming to pass. “What then? Could you truly be happy living so confined, with people who dislike you, in the darkness beneath a mountain?” 

“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “I am sure it will be difficult at times. But Legolas,” she laid a hand on his arm to emphasize her words, “I do know one thing. I will never be happy anywhere else.”

He thought about that for a while, his eyes on the light filtering through the distant edge of the forest. Finally he sighed, sounding just as longsuffering as he had when she’d dragged him, an Elf full-grown for millennia, into her games as a child. “Well,” he said, in tones more like his old self, “we’d better go help them kill the dragon then.”

 

0o0o0o0o0

 

They caught up with Kili and his companions on the plain before Erebor. 

“We have come to help,” Legolas proclaimed calmly, and King Thorin stared at him with all the astonishment of a person who has rarely heard those words addressed to him. 

“You have my thanks,” the king eventually replied, once he’d found his tongue. 

Kili beamed his bewildering starlit smile and Tauriel found herself leaning towards him, as a flower does to the sun. He approached and twined his fingers with hers, lifting her hand to his lips. “Glad you’re here,  amrâlimê . Let’s go find the door and kill this thing, shall we?”

“So reckless,” a blond Dwarf said mockingly, “wanting to run in without a plan. Our mother would weep.”

Kili smacked the other Dwarf on the back of his head with his free hand. “Our mother would do that, more like.” He winked at a wide-eyed Tauriel and added, “This is Fili, by the way.”

Fili bowed with a flourish and King Thorin rolled his eyes. “I’ll be happy to smack you both in your mother’s stead if you don’t get moving. Let us find the door and then we’ll make our plan.”

The Dwarf with the odd hat walked briskly away, calling back, “Hurry it up, lads, or he’ll be threatening to smack us next!”

Legolas looked taken aback by the ensuing snickers and rude comments, but Tauriel’s smile didn’t falter. Perhaps she will sometimes be startled by their unfamiliar ways, but for now…

She tightened her fingers around Kili’s hand.

For now, she only feels as though she’s come home.

 

0o0o0o0o0

 

The door was found, the plan was made, and the dragon was slain, Elvish and Dwarvish arrows sprouting from its eyes and heavy spear from an unarmored spot on its chest. King Thorin had hurled the spear into the dragon as it flailed and clawed at its eyes, and if tears ran down his cheeks into his beard after the beast lay still, no one mentioned it.

The other Dwarves knelt, declaring their fealty anew to the King Under the Mountain.

 Legolas watched with a measure of grief as his old friend and sworn sister did the same.

 

0o0o0o0o0

**Third Age 2942**

**Autumn**

 

Tauriel made her way through the bustling passageway, acknowledging the few friendly or (more commonly) polite greetings. Caravan after caravan had arrived during the spring and summer, returning Erebor’s people to their home, and while there were more smiles than scowls cast her way now, today’s caravan likely would tip the balance back into the negative. Still, word about her was clearly spreading. With each successive caravan she was greeted less with horrified shock and more with simple distrust.

Distrust is a far better starting point.

She smiled at a small child watching her over his mother’s shoulder and turned into a side passage to mount the stairs to the ramparts.

“My lady,” Dwalin said in greeting, the other guards echoing him, and she sighed.

“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t call me that.”

“When you’re on duty,” he pointed out gruffly. “You’re not on duty now, nor are you likely to be for months, so…”

She smiled involuntarily at the thought of the reason she wouldn’t be able to take part in patrolling, but replied coolly, “So…?”

He returned his gaze to the horizon. “So suffer.”

Tauriel snorted a surprised laugh, enjoying the hint of shared amusement that creased Dwalin’s otherwise impassive face, then propped her elbows on the crenellated wall and tilted her face up to the sun.

“Are you here to be useful, or just to enjoy the outdoors?”

“Can I not do both?” she countered mildly.

“If _enjoyment_ is required for you to be useful, I suppose needs must.”

She tsked. “And here I thought you _enjoyed_ your job: killing orcs and goblins, preventing assassinations, harassing the royal family…”

Dwalin laughed outright, visibly startling the younger guards. “Peace, you have me! Enjoyment in one’s work is acceptable.” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and added ponderously, “My lady.”

She opened her mouth to retort, but was interrupted by her husband’s voice. “There you are,  agyâdê!”

They did their usual lean and stretch so he could kiss her cheek, then he bent to press a kiss to the small swell of her belly. She’d been so startled the first time he’d done that in public, but no one else had even batted an eye. Children were cherished, and such expressiveness was apparently customary for Dwarves. “And you,  khajmelê,” he continued.

“She is unlikely to be anywhere I am not,” Tauriel pointed out, amusement tinging her voice.

He grinned at her, but continued to address their baby, saying mournfully, “Do you hear how your mother mocks me, my  nâtha?”

She rolled her eyes. “You are hardly mistreated.”

His grin turned heated. “No. You treat me very well indeed.”

“Kili!” she hissed, looking around to see if anyone heard. The guardsmen all _looked_ as though they hadn’t, but then she saw Dwalin’s longsuffering expression and her cheeks flamed.

Her (ridiculous, cheeky) husband winked, looking smug, but changed the subject. “Can you see them?”

She tore her gaze away from him and looked back out over the plain. “Yes, perhaps two hours away. You should be able to see them soon.”

He looked pleased. “Finally! All our family will be together.” He leaned against the wall, but kept his gaze fixed to her face. “You’re not still worried?”

“No. Your mother’s letters have been very kind.” She hesitated. “In truth, Arndís is the only one that concerns me. Her tone in her last letter was still rather… suspicious.”

Kili snorted. “Arndís should concern all of Middle Earth.”

A few feet away, Dwalin turned his laugh into a cough and Kili pressed him, “Am I wrong?”

“It’s not my place to say if you’re wrong, my prince,” Dwalin replied piously.

“He agrees with you,” Tauriel translated.

“If you say so… _my lady_.”

“Has he always been like this?” she demanded of her snickering husband.

“Actually,” he replied thoughtfully, his eyes dancing, “he limited it to Thorin until you came along.”

Tauriel sniffed and put her hands on her hips. “I refuse to take the blame for this.”

Kili grinned. “I actually did have a reason for coming to find you, and it wasn’t to interrupt your ever-so-charming banter.” Tauriel and Dwalin both looked revolted at his description. “You received a package and letter from Legolas—I left the parcel in our rooms, but the letter,” he pulled it from inside his bejeweled jerkin, “is right here.” He handed it to her with a flourish, but said seriously, “Go ahead and read it—I know you’ve been worried.”

She needed no other urging. She stepped aside, leaving Kili to insist to Dwalin that he _could_ _so_ see the caravan now, that Dwalin only was unable to see it yet because of his old eyes, and hastily pulled the letter open.

A few minutes later she rejoined them, sliding the folded letter into her pocket. “He has sent us fine lambs wool and silk for baby clothes, along with his congratulations.”

Kili frowned at the expression on her face and took her hand in his warm one, but replied lightly, “That was kind of him. He is still in Lothlorien?”

“He writes he is soon to leave, with the sons of Lord Elrond. They will winter in Imladris—Rivendell—and then will travel north to the main training camp of the Dunedain Rangers.”

“Training the Rangers should be entertaining,” he offered.

“Yes. He says he is looking forward to it.” She gazed out over the plain before Erebor. The caravan should now be clearly visible to everyone.

Kili waited a few moments, then prompted her, “But?”

She sighed, returning her eyes to his face. “I just wish he weren’t so unhappy still. He has heard nothing from his father—he says he has no desire to hear from him, but I can tell it pains him.”

“His father is not likely to easily forgive his son’s words to him last year,” Kili replied carefully.

“His father should not have attempted to lay unjust siege to Erebor!” she snapped. “Legolas’ words to him were well deserved!”

“I agree. I’m not saying he shouldn’t have said what he did,” he said calmly. “Given the situation, he would have been justified in saying far worse. But you know the sort of person Thranduil is.”

Tauriel scowled. “Yes, unfortunately, but I do not understand him. Why can he never admit when he’s wrong? For all his faults, I know he loves him—he’s punishing himself with this foolish estrangement just as much as he is Legolas.”

“Punishing himself more, most likely,” Dwalin interjected in his gravelly voice. “Unlike his father, that lad is no fool. He’ll find his feet and do well for himself—he doesn’t need his father’s help the way Thranduil probably thinks he does.”

“You’re right,” she agreed wearily. “That’s likely exactly what King Thranduil thinks, and he’s just waiting for Legolas to come home and apologize.”

Dwalin and Kili snorted in unison. “He’ll be waiting a long time for that,” Dwalin stated. The amused twitch of his lip was her only warning before he continued, “My lady.”

Tauriel sighed longsufferingly, thrusting an elbow into the side of her laughing husband. Kili just grinned, then slid an arm around her waist and stood, rock-solid, as she leaned into him.

 _I love you_ , she thought, feeling almost overwhelmed. _I love you so much. And it doesn’t matter how patiently I have to wait for people to overcome their distrust of me, I love my life here in Erebor with you._

Kili slanted a look up at her, somehow able to tell, as he always could, that she was laboring under heavy emotion. “Alright,  amrâlimê?”

“Yes,  mell nín,” she replied quietly, her heart full. “I am very well.”

They waited, watching the caravan grow closer. Dwalin eventually left, off to strike terror into the hearts of the guards assigned to the gates. Ravens wheeled overhead, crying joyously, as the caravan’s horns were answered by the trumpets of Erebor. When the wagons were close enough that their wheels could be heard, Fili called urgently up to them.

Kili kissed Tauriel’s hand. “Ready?” he asked, beaming his starlit smile.

She leaned over and kissed him. “Ready,” she agreed.

Then, hand in hand, they went down to greet their family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! (I know, I know, FINALLY--so sorry it took so long.) If you have a moment, I would love to hear what you think!
> 
> Translations:  
> Eryn Galen- Greenwood the Great  
> amrâlimê– my love  
> agyâdê- my happiness  
> khajmelê- my gift of all gifts  
> nâtha- daughter  
> mell nín – my beloved  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:  
> Amad- mother  
> Gwathel- sworn sister- not blood-related  
> Nana- mummy/mommy
> 
>    
> I've read lots of different ideas for Dwarf aging and the only thing that they all seem to agree on is that Dwarves reach their full size by age 30. Whichever aging theory you like, Thorin was very young when Smaug took Erebor-- perhaps in his early teens by human standards-- and Frerin and Dis roughly the equivalents of a human preteen and five or six year old. They were babies, the lot of them. :(
> 
> Second chapter is set in TA 2941, also in the Mirkwood-- who could Tauriel be running across then?? ;) It's plotted out and partially written, but likely won't be up until after Christmas. Have a great holiday, everyone-- and if you have a moment to spare, please leave a review!


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